Dodging Bullets
by aquafizzy10
Summary: Leonard should have realized they were from two different agencies. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was. He should have realized something was odd by the way Jim would slip out in the middle of the night and come back beaten, bruised, and purple. Fuck, he thought, shaking his head at his own stupidity, bar fights? Really? (Spy AU)


Leonard should have realized they were from two different agencies.

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it was. He should have realized something was odd by the way Jim would slip out in the middle of the night and come back beaten, bruised, and purple. _Fuck_, he thought, shaking his head at his own stupidity,_ bar fights_? _Really_?

He supposed that's just how Jim was, it was how they met. Still, he was one of the best agents in his field, how did he miss that _Jim_, of all people, the man he's lived with for the past three years, was a spy himself?

Maybe it was just his consciousness refusing to see it. Jocelyn was his supervisor back at the Old Job, and that didn't go well. Maybe he knew, deep, deep down, that this wouldn't go well, either. Maybe Jim knew all along, was just damn good at hiding it, was stringing him along for secrets, was planning on killing him in the end, anyway. The thought made Leonard's heart hurt. There was no possible way that Jim could have ever loved him, he should have known. He should have known a lot of things.

At least they weren't married, but they might as well have been, at least in his case. In the back of his mind, the ring that was hidden under the bed made his breathing go shallow, stomach turning and turning, making him feel nauseous, making him feel bitter again. Jim made him better, happier, but now, Jim made him worse. Still, he gripped the gun tighter, taking in several deep, not-really-calming breaths. He was crouched behind several large crates, layers of metal and wood keeping him hidden, safe from bullets and eyes and anything else either teams could throw at him. He could panic here, he wouldn't get shot. Missions were filled with danger and filled your heart with darkness. There was no room for love in this life, he knew that, _he knew that_.

Somehow, Jim managed to weasel his way into his life anyway (maybe that was the plan all along).

There was momentary silence before guns went off again, shooting in quick, loud sequences. Leonard could hear his team calling out for him, could hear they were in trouble and they needed him, his help, his steady hands and expertise, but his body was made of lead. His muscles were stiff and his lungs felt frozen, filled with the cool night air that came from the open doors of the unheated warehouse.

Jim was there, Jim was on the other side, Jim was shooting at his team, Jim was his enemy, Jim was the love of his life, Jim was a liability-

_Jim was shot._

He didn't see it, but he knew that yell, knew how it was seconds away from a howl, or a scream, knew it from the time Jim broke his arm while they were riding their bikes in the park. Leonard's breathing stopped, and if he felt panic before, it was nothing compared to the pure, ice-cold _terror _that filled him now, powering him more than adrenaline or drugs or the high of a mission ever could.

Rolling over onto his side, still hidden, still unknown, Leonard finally managed to see what was going on, and what a horrifying sight it was. Several men were dead on the floor, bleeding and long forgotten, floor practically covered in red, like it was painted by some morbid Picasso. Some were his, some were Jim's, it was hard to tell how many, most of their faces were covered- and goddammit, they weren't forgotten, not for _him_. What an idiot, what a stupid, caring, sentimental _idiot_. Jim got shot because he was _checking_-

Fuck. Peterson, Leonard's partner of only five months (which was still the longest he's kept since the divorce), stalked over to where Jim lying, whose fingers were slippery and gripping the wound on his torso, not quite managing to stop the heavy flowing of blood. He stepped over the dead bodies slowly, accidentally slipping up and satisfying himself with the crunch of bone, and moved almost as if he were trying to mentally torment Jim in his last moments, prolonging it. He raised his gun with a carefree ease, aimed it at his head, and Leonard watched as Jim's blue eyes widened, fear and a gruesome acceptance filling them as he realized he couldn't save himself this time, couldn't blame it on some dick in a bar, and Leonard realized at that point that even if Jim was just pretending, he certainly wasn't, and he couldn't just _watch_. Different sides or not, hellish consequences be damned, he was in love with this kid and he'd rather shoot himself than watch him get killed right in front of him.

Raising his gun from his crouched position, he shot Peterson in the head, quick and merciful, just as he was trained to do. There was silence, with the exception of running boots from the others who were on the other side of the warehouse, only following orders. Jim's breaths were ragged and Leonard wasn't even sure he was breathing, he certainly wasn't when Jim's eyes finally found his, finally widened in shock and horror and something akin to fucking relief.

Jim was alive, but Leonard just shot his partner for someone from not just another agency, but from The Agency, their sworn rivals or some traditional bullshit that he never completely paid attention to. He was in more trouble than he probably realized, and helping Jim further was probably a death sentence, and he wouldn't be any good to anyone then.

Leonard did the only thing his frayed survival skills told him to do.

He ran.


End file.
